2. In Which (Some) Important People Appear
Isilya, Urime, Year 20 of the Fourth Age
Minas Tirith, Gondor
I'm currently in the study that functions as my classroom. My mathematics lesson is over so it's now time to write in this accursed book. Orc bile, when it was time for this year's lesson plans to be announced, I hoped it was going to center on the history of the Second Age, statecraft, and speech.
Instead, I learn my lessons are going to focus on mathematics, composition and penmanship, and needlework, of all things. I can understand mathematics and writing to a certain point, but NEEDLEWORK? What use is knowing how to darn stockings when the fate of Middle-earth rests on knowing the right thing to say to an ambassador from Rhun? Arrggghhhhh!
My tutor whom I won't name is currently reading over my shoulder again. He's now glaring at me. Again. All right, tutor, I'll write something informative down.
My eldest sister is Gilraen, named after my paternal grandmother. Poor grandmother, forced to be the namesake of such a nasty person. Gilraen is so ladylike and proper. She always dresses properly for every event and says the right thing for every conversation. Her smooth, silvery-gold hair never has a strand sticking out, and her nails are always clipped and clean. Her stitches are always small and neat, and she never steps out of her proper place. If only they knew. . .
My tutor just told me to stop whining about my WONDERFUL sister. All right, let's go on to Celebrian.
Normally, a child is not named after a still living Elf, but since none of us will ever see my maternal grandmother in Valinor, my parents decided it wouldn't hurt. At any rate, Celebrian's not an Elf so it's not like we're stealing Grandmother's identity. I think.
I must say Celebrian is nothing like the grandmother whom my mother praises with no end. At sixteen, two years younger than Gilraen, she is a silly, empty-headed twit with no. . .
My tutor once again is glaring at me. All right, already!
Eldarion, the heir to the throne of Arnor and Gondor and so on and so on, is twelve. He's also my dearest friend. The older ladies shake their head at us and whisper about what a bad influence Eldarion is to a young lady such as me. Young lady, indeed. If I'm a young lady, hobbits are six feet tall.
Miriel and Firiel, the twins, are the youngest. The rhyming was unintentional on my parents' part. They're only two so they're not too bad. Yet.
My thirty minutes have passed so I can stop. Hurray!
Aldea, Urime, Year 20 of the Fourth Age
Minas Tirith, Gondor
Uncle Faramir and Aunt Eowyn are coming!
Or rather, the Steward and Prince of Ithilien and his wife, the White Lady, but they're just as good as kin, in my family's mind.
I adore Aunt Eowyn. She's probably the strongest woman I've met (except for Mother, but she's something else). She defeated the Witch-King of Angmar for Elbereth's sake! Can Gilraen do that, tutor? No, she can not!
Uncle Faramir is one of the best men I know. He's so wise and gentle and understanding. I'm glad he's father's Steward.
The only problem is that they're bringing their sons.
Later. . .
I had to stop an hour ago. I had to have my new gown fitted for that ball Mother is throwing for Aunt Eowyn and Uncle Faramir when they visit. Gah, the only thing I hate more than needlework is having to stand still for HOURS to have a gown adjusted. I even hate it more than writing in this book, and that's saying a lot.
Now about Aunt Eowyn and Uncle Faramir's sons. Needless to say, they're not my favorite people in the world. Well, Elboron is not too bad. He's seventeen so I don't see him too much since he spends most of his time with other men.
However, I utterly DESPISE Eomund. He's probably the meanest, nastiest boy from here to Edoras. The last time I saw him, he told me I looked like a rat and dropped a frog down my skirt! Even Eldarion wouldn't do that! And what's worst, he only does those things to ME! Why me? What did I do to him?
All right, I did call him an ugly pig. Twice. And I did pour a jar of spiders on his bed when I was ten. But he deserves every single nasty thing done to him! Really!
At least their daughters are coming, too. That'll (hopefully) sweeten Eomund's impending and unstoppable visit.
The oldest, Finduilas, is nineteen and much sweeter than Gilraen. She always listens to me and never thinks of me as a silly child.
Little Morwen, who's six, is adorable. Everyone calls her "Elwing and Theodwyn's Little Shadow" because she follows me and Theodwyn around all the time and always does everything we tell her to do.
As for Theodwyn, she's my age and my best friend after Eldarion. She's studying to be a shieldmaiden like her mother once was and doesn't think about pointless things like fashion. The only problem is that she's Eomund's twin. Gah, no friend's perfect, I guess.
Anyway, they're coming tomorrow! I can't wait! (See, tutor? I only whined about writing ONCE.)
Menelya, Urime, Year 20 of the Fourth Age
Minas Tirith, Gondor
They're here!
All day long, I stared out the window, looking for their arrival. At breakfast, Mother scolded me for letting my porridge go cold, and started lecturing me about how many people all over Gondor would be happy just to have that one bowl of porridge. Let them have it, I say; I hate porridge.
During morning lessons, tutor (I still won't give him the benefit of having his name written here.) yelled at me for not solving the equation on the board. Gah, who needs equations in real life when some of my dearest friends are coming any minute?
At afternoon lessons (They change every day.), Armsmaster Hirvegil made me run around the training yard twice for not practicing my swordplay. And the training yard is HUGE. I was on the verge of COLLAPSE when I was done.
Finally, we (Except for Father, he's out in Lossarnarch and will arrive tomorrow.) were sitting down for the evening meal when Eldarion looked casually out the window and yelled. Loudly.
"Eldarion, what in Elbereth's name are you shouting about?" Mother said, rubbing her pointed ears. Elves, as I said before, have sensitive hearing. Poor Mother.
Eldarion was practically jumping out of his seat. "Mother, they've arrived!"
At his words, Mother's demeanor changed from annoyed to serene. "Good. Come along, all of you. Watch your posture, make sure your clothes are neat, and mind your manners." Valar, Mother, they're practically kin.
Then, she looked sternly at my sisters and started jabbing her finger at them. "Gilraen, don't be so bossy to the younger children. Celebrian, try not to fall all over Elboron. The two of you should also help Aerin (the nurse) with the twins." Miriel and Firiel simply giggled and clung to to Aerin's skirts while Celebrian and Gilraen groaned, Celebrian especially. Elboron is high on her list of handsome, marriagable boys. Father says she is going through a stage; I say what Celebrian needs is a functional brain.
Mother turned her attention to Eldarion and me. "Eldarion, watch your language. Words heard in the barracks are not to be spoken here."
Eldarion snickered. "Yes, Mother." As if he would actually listen.
Mother sighed and said, "And Elwing, dear, watch that tongue of yours. Try to refrain from being catty with young Eomund."
"I'll only be catty if Eomund is catty first," I said.
Mother shook her head. "No, Elwing, you WILL be polite if it should kill you."
I grumbled. "Fine. Just make sure I'm not buried next to Lady Andreth after I explode."
Her eyes narrowed. "Elwing. . ."
"Yes, Mother!"
Mother smiled and went back to being serene. "Well then, let us go down." And we all went down to the great hall.
I saw Aunt Eowyn first, and I immediately forgot what Mother told me and launched myself at her. "Auntie!" I screamed. I could here Mother sighing as I did that. Hang protocol, in my opinion.
Aunt Eowyn caught me and squeezed. Tightly. The only problem with Aunt Eowyn is that her embraces are too tight. That's all right, though. What matters is what's inside. (At least that what all those philosophers talk about, anyway.)
She let go and whispered into my ear, "Elwing, how is the needlework?" I had told her about the needlework several weeks ago in a letter.
"Horrible, of course," I whispered back. "The lady who teaches me to sew says my stitches are the worst she's ever seen." Not that I care. I don't need it if I'm going to be someone important someday. What am I going to do, you ask? (Tutor is looking over my shoulder again.) Err, ummm, well, I don't know, but I will know someday, you'll see!
She winked at me. "Don't worry, Elwing. I wasn't much good at needlework myself at your age, and I turned out fine."
I smiled and then nearly started when I felt a tap on my back. "Do you have a kiss for an old man, milady?" a voice said.
I smiled again. "Of course, milord." I immediately planted a kiss on Uncle Faramir's cheek.
He laughed, his gray eyes twinkling. "Well then, may I steal the fair lady at your side for a bit?"
"Of course," I said, and Aunt Eowyn, laughing, immediately went over to Uncle Faramir and tucked her arm into his. They then went over to greet Mother.
Finduilas, meanwhile, winked at me and walked over to chat with Gilraen and Celebrian. I don't understand why Finduilas likes the "Terrible Two" so much. Maybe Finduilas is trying to reform them. Not that I think the THEY will ever change.
As for Elboron, he went over to converse with Eldarion due to a lack of men his age around and completely ignored Celebrian's not-so subtle attempts to attract his attention. Someone should remind me to switch her rose-scented perfume with brine tomorrow.
I felt another tap on my shoulder and spun around. Theodwyn was behind me, dressed, surprisingly enough, in a green dress. Theodwyn is a notorious tomboy, more so than I am.
"Nice dress, Wyn," I said with a smirk.
She scowled. "Say one more word, El, and I swear, I will trounce you so hard at our next sparring session that you'll have bruises on your rump for a week."
"Those are big words, Theodwyn, but is there anything behind them?" I said. "Besides, I've been practicing." It's only a minor lie. Surely, a lie so small won't hurt. Will it?
Theodwyn snorted. "Really, Elwing? I remember the last time we sparred, I disarmed you three times within thirty minutes."
This time, I scowled. "Well, you have the Lady of the Shield-arm as a teacher, so it's not fair. Father's too busy to teach me. Otherwise, you would be the one without a weapon all the time. After all, Father's supposed to be the greatest swordsman in Middle-earth."
Theodwyn said, "While I agree with the part about your father, El, I still think I would beat you. You NEVER practice."
"That's because my bloody tutor never gives me any ti-"
"Hello, Rat-face."
I turned around to look into a pair of very familiar gray eyes. "Hello, Eomund," I said through gritted teeth.
"What, Rat-face, cat got your tongue?" said Eomund with a smirk.
Theodwyn sighed. "Leave her alone, brother."
Eomund ignored her. "Rat-face, I'm starting to think the cat SWALLOWED your tongue."
Ignore him, I said to myself. Aloud, I said, "Isn't it a beautiful night?"
Eomund snorted. "Trying to change the subject, are you?" he said. "Bema, Rat-face, I've never seen anyone come up with a comeback as bad as that one before."
Remember what Mother said, I told myself.
"If that comeback was bad as you say it was, what would you call your horsemanship?" I said sweetly. "After all, doesn't your twin sister beat you all the time when you race?"
Hang what Mother told me.
Eomund's face reddened. "Why you-" he began.
"You two!"
Our heads both whirled around. Our mothers were both glaring at us. Most of the people milling about stared, too. Mother snapped her fingers.
"Stop that nonsense at once!" she commanded. "Elwing, what did I tell you?"
"Hold my tongue, Mother," I mumbled. No use being catty when Mother was angry.
Aunt Eowyn marched over to Eomund and grabbed his arm. "What did I tell you?"
"No arguing with Rat-face," he said.
Aunt Eowyn narrowed her eyes. "Her name is ELWING, Eomund. Apologize. Now."
Mother nodded and waved her finger in my face. "You, too."
We walked as slowly as possible to each other. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.
Mother glared daggers at me.
"I'm sorry, Eomund."
Eomund grumbled and finally said, "I'm sorry, ELWING."
Both of our mothers beamed, and Mother said, "Let's go to dinner, shall we?
We all started walking towards the dining room. Theodwyn laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. However, as we passed Eomund, he stuck his tongue out at me.
I knew it was rude, but I stuck my tongue at him back.
Gilraen's hair: Since Galadriel was blonde and Celeborn was silver-haired, I tend to think Celebrian (due to her name as well) had silvery hair. That's why Gilraen hair is a silvery-blonde.